


Aesthetics

by NB_Cecil



Series: October OTP Ficlets [28]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Admiration, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Implied Julian Bashir/Data, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, adoration, established Data/Picard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 00:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NB_Cecil/pseuds/NB_Cecil
Summary: Picard gets dressed for a new holodeck adventure; Data admires his aesthetic qualities.





	Aesthetics

“The holodeck update includes a new library.” Picard remarks conversationally, stripping off his uniform jacket to reveal a black _Starfleet_ regulation undershirt. “I thought I might try out a _007_ adventure.”

“Ah, _James Bond_.” Data looks up from the console in their shared quarters. “A fictional British spy created in 1953 by Earth author Ian Fleming. The original novels were adapted for film, television, radio, comics... _Bond_ became a cultural icon of 20th and 21st Century Earth culture. Will you be assuming the eponymous role, Jean-Luc?”

“Of course. Would you care to join me?”

“I am currently working on an update for Geordi’s VISOR. I promised I would have it ready by this evening, so I must decline your offer.” The Android replies. “I do, however, look forward with anticipation to hearing you recount your experience.”

Picard leans over the console to kiss the Android, running a hand through his neat, fine hair as he does so. “I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”

“It is a date.” Data replies, smiling a small smile to himself at his successful use of idiom before turning back to his work.

The sound of the Captain unzipping a boot distracts Data and he turns his chair to see his lover sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg bent in a ‘V’ with his foot propped on his thigh. He finds himself searching for an excuse to break off his task. Picard’s grunt at the effort of freeing himself from the tight-fitting footwear provides just that.

“Do you require assistance?” Data enquires, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

“Mm, if you don’t mind.” Picard waves his foot in the air. “These new boots do pinch a bit.”

Data stands and moves to the bed. Kneeling, he takes the offending boot in his hand and gently wiggles it from the Captain’s foot before turning his attention to the second boot. Once both feet are free, he lifts them gently onto his own thighs and strokes them through Picard’s black uniform socks. Picard rests a hand on his shoulder and kisses the top of his head affectionately.

“I find the aesthetic quality of your feet quite appealing.” Data muses.

“Really?” Picard’s eyebrows shoot up incredulously.

“Yes.” Data confirms. “We cannot observe it currently because you are wearing a sock, but the ratio of the relative length of your right big toe—” He indicates the relevant digit by lightly pinching it through Picard’s sock “—when compared to your right little toe—“ He pinches this too “—is 1.6174, approximately the mathematical Golden ratio.”

Picard chuckles. “You measured them?” He asks.

“Not consciously. However, I am programmed to automatically collect and store data from my surroundings, so when I look at or touch your feet, for example, I store information on parameters including size, temperature, texture, colour variation, and so on.”

“I see.” Picard wonders what other details of his body parts Data has stored in that positronic brain of his. _He’s probably catalogued every inch of my by now_ , he reluctantly concludes.

“I—“ Data falters, glancing to the left briefly as he reconsiders sharing a highly intimate personal detail. He rises to sit on the bed beside the Captain “—As you know, I have become accustomed to the sensory input patterns I experience in your company.”

Sensing his lover is experiencing an internal conflict around sharing whatever it is he is trying to share, the Captain takes his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Go on.”

“When we are apart for prolonged periods, I find reviewing the statistics I have collected on you and drawing comparisons lessens the sensation of incompleteness bought about by your absence.” The Android confesses.

“Data, that is one of the sweetest things you have ever said.” Picard expresses his delight by pulling his Second Officer into a hug, resting his cheek on the Android’s shoulder as he does so.

“Thank you Jean-Luc. I can recall very few occasions when I have been called _sweet_.”

“Computer, time.” Picard breaks the magic of the moment.

 _It is 17:40 hours._ The computer responds.

“Listen, I have Holodeck Three booked for 20 minutes’ time. I must get into costume.” He breaks off the embrace with an apologetic shrug. 

“And I have a VISOR update to finish coding.” Data reluctantly stands and returns the console.

Picard heads to the wardrobe and selects a dark blue tuxedo suit with black lapels, white dress shirt, black bow tie, and black Oxfords. He lays them out on the bed and pulls his t-shirt over his head.

On catching sight of his bare torso reflected in the mirror, Data is again distracted from his work. This time he folds his arms and leans back in his chair, admiring his lover’s reflection as he goes about donning and buttoning his shirt: the well-defined muscles of his biceps ( _have they become bigger?_ —Data consults his internal files— _Yes, by point zero four percent since last Tuesday; his mok’bara training sessions with Worf are paying off_ ) and the roll of fat Picard refers to as his _love handles_ on the Captain’s lower back ( _they are endearing too_ , Data muses).

Shirt buttoned and cuff links in place ( _those are the antique cuff links I gave him for his birthday last year_ , Data notes with satisfaction), Picard turns his attention to his uniform trousers, opening the fastening and reaching down to pull them over his feet. Data cannot resist rotating his chair again to enjoy the view of his lover’s backside clad in tight-fitting black briefs. Aware of the Android’s eyes on him, Picard turns round.

“Are you gathering statistics on my arse now?” He grins playfully.

“It is where my attention is focussed right now, yes.” Data admits. “Although I am primarily occupied in contemplating the aesthetic value of you gluteus and posterior thigh muscles.”

“I had no idea about all this going on inside your head. Do you contemplate the aesthetic value of our friends’ bodies too?”

A frown passes across Data’s face as he contemplates the need to balance answering the question honestly and being mindful of the Captain’s feelings. “I do collect data on everyone I come into contact with, but as I have already explained, that is done by automatic subroutines. However, beside a few exceptions, I do not habitually make aesthetic comparisons.” He elucidates.

“But you do make _some_ aesthetic judgements?” Picard probes, stepping into his tuxedo trousers as he talks.

“Yes, Lieutenant Commander La Forge’s smile, for example. I find its range of expression quite compelling, and I believe...” Data hesitates, checking his statistics to ascertain if it is indeed true. “...Yes, I do believe Geordi has a special smile he uses only to greet me.”

“That’s because he’s very fond of you as his best friend.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. Counselor Troi—“ Data is getting into it. “—Now, she has a range of 43 distinct facial expressions she employs when enjoying a chocolate confection. They are quite exquisite.” The Android is smiling broadly now. “And Commander Riker: he performs a quite intriguing behaviour especially when interacting socially with women—“

“Ah, my First Officer is a notorious flirt.” Picard interrupts, chuckling.

“Indeed. I have often observed that he turns his head and upper body toward the object of his interest in such a way that, if one was to continue the line his torso and legs describe, it would be a near-perfect logarithmic spiral.” Data’s eyes are shining with wonder now.

“I’ve never thought of Will’s body language as aesthetically pleasing before.” Picard steps into his shoes and squats in order to tie them. “More...sleazy, actually. You’re a marvel, Data.”

“It is a mere an attribute of my programming.” Data shrugs. “Do you recall—?” He stops himself mid-sentence.

“Mmmm?” Picard looks up from his shoes.

“Oh, never mind; it is of no importance.” Data waves his hand dismissively. He was about to begin extolling the aesthetic virtues of that charming young doctor from _Deep Space 9_ , the one who had inadvertently activated his latent dream program, but a Conversational Tact circuit activated, suggesting the subject may cause his lover emotional distress.

“Would you mind?” Picard approaches the Android with a bow tie in his hand.

“Of course.” Data stands, taking the strip of fabric. He reaches to flip the Captain’s collard up. “The skill of tying a traditional bow tie has been more or less lost in 24th Century humans.” He remarks. 

“Yes, I must confess I don’t know how to do it.”

“It is fortunate I am here to assist you.” Data positions the tie around his neck. “Please lift your chin—there.” He deftly ties the bow tie, tweaking the ends so it sits straight, arranges the collar, and plants a peck on Picard’s cheek.

The Captain reaches for his jacket on the bed, shrugs it on and takes a step back so Data can admire him. “How do I look?”

Data frowns. “Your costume resembles the actor Daniel Craig’s portrayal of Bond accurately, except...” He pauses. “Yes! You are missing something.” He swipes his hand in front of a drawer in the wall which springs open in response, rummages, and produces a white silk handkerchief. He folds it adeptly into a neat square and tucks it into the Captain’s breast pocket. “ _Now_ you look the part.”

“Thank you my love.” Picard leans in for a quick kiss. “I must dash, but I will meet you in Ten Forward at 20:00 hours.”

“That would be agreeable, _Mister Bond_.” Data gives his lover a small waves as he heads for the door. He turns back to his coding, but finds himself dwelling on the lingering image of the crease at the top of the Captain’s right thigh just below his buttock. _R equals one plus dy over dx—It is 2164.44 micrometers_. Data’s sub-processors complete the computation before his conscious mind is able to finish recalling the formula for calculating the radius of a curve. He smiles to himself, making a mental note to check at every opportunity to see if the crease’s curve remains constant or changes according to variables. _What should I call it?_ He wonders. _A butt-crease? No, too crude for something so...perfect._ He searches his anatomy files for a scientific term, but doesn’t find one. _Butt-crease it is then, for now._ He turns back to the console, still smiling to himself at the sheer aesthetic brilliance of his partner’s body.

**Author's Note:**

> End notes: OTP Fics Day 27: In formal wear (swapped with Day 19). Thanks to a certain friend who suggested I write Data admiring Picard. Picard’s costume is modelled on https://bamfstyle.files.wordpress.com/2014/10/sf6-main.jpg.


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